


The Long Way Around

by adjovi



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 03:45:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14708472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adjovi/pseuds/adjovi
Summary: The monster tries to restore Quentin's memories, but mistakenly throws him into another timeline.





	The Long Way Around

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wanted to write for Welter's, but I didn't realize I had already missed the deadline for submission. But, the idea had already been planted, so I ran with it. Thanks for any comments or kudos. :)

_The strange man is coming at him, and he is fucking out of his mind with terror. He tries to pull away, but the man’s grip is just too strong. This is how he is going to die. He’ll be one of those stories on the news where he is killed in broad daylight on a crowded street, no one stepping in to save him. The man tilts his head to the side, studying him with those reptilian glowing eyes, and he feels his knees buckle, but the man holds him fast. He places a large palm in the center of his chest, and he feels like he is being pushed from the inside, his very being shoved out and replaced with something else. Suddenly, he knows. He remembers everything. He is himself again. This is no man. This is a monster. Holy fuck._

Quentin awoke with a start. He became immediately aware of two things. First, he was naked. Second, he wasn’t alone in his bed. He realized with a start that it was Alice lying beside him, naked as well. He lurched away in surprise, almost falling off the side of the bed. She made a soft sound in her sleep and readjusted her head on the pillow, but didn’t wake up. He gingerly slid off the bed, pulling on clothes that had been strewn across the floor in obvious haste, stepping into his jeans. He recognized this was his old room at the Cottage. He walked over towards the mirror, running his fingers through his hair. It was shorter now, like when he first came to Brakebills. There was a picture of him and Alice shoved into the corner of the frame. He remembered taking this picture, but the image reflected here was _wrong_. In the original, they were the bookends to Eliot and Margo who had been wedged in between. He pulled a shirt over his head and went out into the hallway.

He could hear voices down below, and his heart started to pound as he heard the unmistakable sound of Eliot’s laughter. He tore down the stairs as fast as he could, finding Eliot seated next to Margo on the couch, drinks in hand, speaking conspiratorially. He ran towards them and slid down in front of Eliot, grasping him by the knees. “Oh, thank God!” 

Eliot froze mid sip and just looked at him rather strangely. “Uh…”

“El? Who the fuck is this?” Margo was shooting daggers at him with her eyes. He started to have a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Quentin, right?” Eliot tilted his head to study him, unconsciously mimicking the monster. He felt nauseous. “He’s a first year. Just got to the Cottage with the other noobs a few weeks ago, right?”

Fucking hell. Quentin felt frozen to the spot, knew he should let go of Eliot at some point but unable to move. Margo shifted on the couch, delighted. “Oh! You’re the one who’s fuck buddies with Alice Quinn!” 

Quentin did move then, standing up and putting some distance between them. Was this a fucking dream? Was he caught in another of those Scarlotti’s webs, one where none of his friends actually knew him? “Where’s Penny?” 

“Penny? Who the hell is Penny?” Eliot was watching him carefully.

“OH! That guy you got into a fight with, right?” Margo seemed positively gleeful. She sat up on her knees. “Rumor was, you used _battle magic_ on him, you naughty boy.” Jesus. Quentin had forgotten that she had been like this. 

Quentin sighed, rubbing his hand across his face. “Look. Whatever is happening here—this is clearly a spell.” He opened his arms wide then let them drop to his sides with a slap. “None of this is real. Someone or _something_ is trying to trap me here. It’s happened before. I need to find Penny so he can incept me, help me to find the way out.” He could hear the panic creeping into his voice.

“Oh honey, you’re not supposed to drink the pink ones. Those are for the party crashers.” Margo just laughed. 

He looked towards Eliot, beseeching him to understand. “Look, Eliot. We’re friends, ok? Very good friends.” He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, pulling tightly at the strands. He looked helplessly at the both of them. “You guys don’t even really know me, do you?”

Eliot shook his head no. Quentin could tell he was trying to feign indifference, but he knew him well enough to know this was all an act. Eliot was freaked the fuck out. 

“Shit. I have to find Penny.” He started pacing. “You guys don’t understand—I have to get out of this. He stopped in front Eliot, gesturing at him “You…” He threw his head back to the ceiling. “Fuck!”

Eliot crossed over towards him in two long strides, taking him by the shoulders. “Hey.” He dragged his eyes up towards Eliot’s face, momentarily rocked by their proximity. He placed his hands over Eliot’s wrists, feeling his strong pulse through his shirt cuffs. “Hey. You are obviously having a bad trip or something. Do you remember what you took?” He gave Quentin’s shoulders a squeeze. “Let’s get you to the infirmary.” 

Quentin dropped Eliot’s wrists and moved away. Eliot had always been the tactile one. “Godammit, Eliot. I’m not having a bad trip! I am under some fucking spell!”

Just then, Alice came down the stairs, eyes wide at the strange tableau that met her. She was wearing one of Quentin’s shirts and nothing else. They had always been discreet about their relationship, apparently not standing on ceremony here. “Q? What’s going on?”

Margo turned around on the couch to look at her. “What’s going on is your little boyfriend here is tripping balls.” 

“Q, are you ok?” Alice moved towards him, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his arm. He couldn’t help himself, he flinched from her touch, not missing the look of hurt and confusion that crossed her face. 

He sighed deeply. “Sorry.” He closed his eyes. “I…Sorry. Shit.” He could feel Eliot staring at him, boring holes into the side of his face. “I just need to find Penny.”

The door to the Cottage shot open, and Penny came crashing through. “Jesus fuck, dude! Don’t you have any fucking wards? I could hear you clear across campus!” 

Quentin had never been so glad to see Penny in his whole life. Actually, he couldn’t remember ever actually being glad to see Penny, but still. “Look. I think I am caught in a spell. I need you to incept me, help lead me out.”

Penny scoffed. “I don’t fucking know how to do that! Besides, why would I help you?”

“Penny, please. He needs your help.” Alice’s voice was pleading. “I can show you. You just need to guide him.” Her voice was very soft, and he knew she was trying to be gentle with him. “Q, you have to be asleep. Go lie down on the sofa.” Margo had shifted up and out of the way, throwing her hands up dramatically, and he laid in the place she vacated. Alice made a series of complicated gestures with her hands, and everything went black.

He awoke sometime later and sat up, feeling a bit groggy and stiff. Penny was seated cross-legged on the floor beside him. His eyes flickered open. “Ok. Dude. You have some fucking weird shit going on in there that I can’t unsee”, he glanced up at the others, his gaze lingering on Eliot for a beat and then falling quickly away, “but you are definitely not under the influence of a spell. That much I can tell.” 

Something slowly began to dawn on him. “Huh.” Quentin was tapping a finger idly on his chin, deep in thought. He looked at Eliot. “You said I was a first year?” Eliot shrugged again and nodded. “Ok. Ok. So…what if it is isn’t a spell? What if I am in a different timeline?” This idea was growing momentum inside him. “What has happened here? Has the Beast…”

“Jesus, Quentin. You don’t remember? He ate Professor March in front of us!” Alice was fidgeting with the bottom of his shirt, clearly distressed.

“And Dean Fogg?” Fuck. The Dean. He would know what timeline this was. 

“Didn’t get there in time.” Penny added, standing up. He addressed Eliot. “You have anything to drink?” 

“What do you think we are? Cretins?” Eliot moved over towards the small bar cart, pouring Penny a stiff drink, then thinking the better of it, poured them all drinks. 

Quentin stood and took the drink from Eliot’s hand, downing it in one fluid motion. He felt the whiskey burn all the way down into his belly. “I need to talk to the Dean.” Without any further discussion, he pulled the door open, making his way purposely across the swath of green towards the House. He flung the door open to the Dean’s office, ignoring the protests of his assistant. 

“Mr. Coldwater. You know the rules. You need an appointment.” Dean Fogg was distractedly arranging papers on the desk, tapping them into a straight pile.

“Cut the shit, Fogg.” He pulled again at the short strands of his hair. “What timeline is this?”

The Dean looked up at him with surprise. Good. Fucker. “Quentin, l don’t think I understand. Are you feeling ok?” 

“Oh I am a couple of counties over from ok.” Quentin made himself over towards the gorgeous bar set, all mahogany and crystal. He pulled the glass stopper from the decanter, pouring himself a generous portion of whiskey. “I’m from timeline 40. The one where we actually _kill_ the Beast.” He took a deep swallow. “Which one’s this?”

Dean Fogg stood then, rubbing the back of his hand across his mouth. “Well, fuck. We have to make it through 40 timelines?” Quentin nodded tightly at him. “This is timeline 17.”

Quentin threw himself down into the scuffed leather arm chair. “Wonderful. So, where’s Jane?”

Fogg reeled back a bit as if slapped. “How do you…” 

He threw his head back and studied the ceiling, balling his fists into his lap, resisting the urge to reach across the desk and choke the man. “Look. We’ve apparently had the same conversation a shitload of times before. Me always coming to you and you telling me about these fucking timeloops that Jane Chatwin resets.”

Fogg sat heavily. “My God. And, you’re from timeline 40? We aren’t even halfway there yet.” He sighed, running his hand over his face. 

Quentin was trying hard to fight back the frustration and fury. “Yeah. It sucks. You get to watch us all die over and over. Horribly. Poor you. Where the fuck is Jane?” 

Fogg was really looking at him closely now, and he knew he was trying to catalog the differences between the two versions of him. “How did you get here? What happened to _our_ Quentin?” 

He threw up his hands. “I don’t know. I really don’t. All I know is one minute…” He trailed off, unsure how much to reveal about what happened in his timeline. He sighed. “I just hope that ‘your’ me doesn’t get himself killed, because that would be really fucking inconvenient.” He paused, sighing deeply. They were so fucked. “I just need to get back there. Jane needs to reset this loop.”

“So. You finally kill the Beast?” 

Quentin flew out of his chair, scraping the legs backwards. “Yes! We kill the Beast.” He slammed his hands on the desk. “I would rather face ten fucking Beasts than be facing… _Fuck_!” He turned his back on Fogg, didn’t want to reveal that barely holding it together. 

He heard the other man sigh deeply behind him. “Ok. Ok.” His voice was soft, placating, and it was a long beat before he began speaking again. “Jesus Christ. There’s something worse than the Beast? ” Quentin rounded on him, eyes flashing, filled with hatred towards this man who was at least partly responsible for what had happened to them in his timeline. Fogg stepped back in surprise. “I will try and help you. I just can’t contact Jane right now. She’s in Fillory. Thought this loop had a bit more legs than the last one. That one was fucking tragic.” He walked over to the bar and brought the bottle back, pouring one for himself and indicating towards Quentin’s empty glass, which he refilled. 

“We could use messenger bunnies.” Quentin slammed back the glass, draining half. Fogg just shook his head in confusion. Or not. They had to be in Fillory to get the fucking bunnies out in the first place. Great. “Do you know when she’ll be back?”

Fogg shook his head and shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. Hopefully soon, although you are all still a few months out from when you usually go to Fillory. Sometimes, though, the Beast just comes here first and kills all of you before you can get there.” Quentin just glared at him. Waiting for her to return and reset the loop really was the only option. He had considered a Tesla Flexion, but who would he even grab? No one knew who he was, his other self was basically useless and Eliot…shit. “I think it best that you stay here, no, so we can keep an eye on you? Who have you talked to in this timeline?”

Quentin sighed, defeated. “What does it even matter if the whole loop gets reset anyways?”

Dean Fogg leaned forward in his chair, the leather squeaking in protest. “Well, if you are here for a little while, you probably don’t want to reveal too much of what has happens in your timeline. Could cause both you and them unwanted distress.” He looked at him sadly, and Quentin fantasized about punching him in the face. 

He barked out a mirthless laugh. “Wonderful.” He was going to be stuck for God knows how long with the people he loved but who barely knew him here. Just waiting around for dauntless Jane fucking Chatwin to return and reset the loop. And, he didn’t even know if that would work to get him back to his own timeline. His own timeline, where a monster had hijacked Eliot’s body and was just lying in wait for him. His options were pretty shitty all around. Having no more use for the Dean, he stormed out of the office, hearing his named called out but ignoring it. He wanted to be as drunk as possible in the shortest amount of time. 

He threw the door open to the Cottage, sighing with relief when he saw Julia. Finally. Someone he could trust to know him. The gun clicked loudly, and he felt the cold steel pressed behind his ear. “Sit down, asshole.” Penny. Of course. 

They lashed him to a chair, ropes enchanted with magic. They had arranged themselves around him in a semi-circle, a distorted version of an intervention. He laughed, feeling near hysteria, and looked down. Julia stepped towards him. “What have you done with him?”

He snapped his head up toward her. “Jules, I haven’t _done_ anything to him.” He instinctually twisted at his bonds, but they held fast.

“Q. What do you know about me?” Julia’s eyes was wary, but he could tell she was concerned. 

He scoffed. “Everything! Jesus, Jules! We’ve been best friends since the second grade!” 

“Tell me something only you would know.” Her arms were crossed.

“We painted a map to Fillory under your kitchen table when we were eight years old. You still have that table.”

She shrugged and gave him a cautious smile. “He’s right.”

“Not fucking good enough.” Penny was gesturing with the gun. “He could have body jumped ‘our’ Quentin. Stolen his memories.” He was pacing around the room, deep in thought. He stopped, turning towards Quentin. “Ok,” he pointed at Eliot, rubbing his face, “how about you tell us something that only _you_ would know about _him_ from your timeline.”

Eliot shook his head in confusion. “Why me?”

“Just trust me on this one, dude.” Penny took an annoyed breath. “So?”

Fuck. He sighed deeply and shook his head. This would not go well. Fucking Penny. Quentin really needed to work on his wards. “What does it matter? She knows all of his shit already.” He indicated Margo with his head. 

“Not everything,” Eliot murmured, and Margo looked at him sharply. “Bambi, you know you have your secrets, too.” He patted her on her knee, and then shifted his gaze towards Quentin. He could tell by the way Eliot was chewing at his fingernail that he was trying very hard to hide his anxiety. 

Quentin looked down and away, trying to figure out what to say. Revealing that Eliot’s favorite food was pizza and he was a closeted country music fan probably wouldn’t cut it. Margo, of course, would know about the Indiana farm life. But at least in his own timeline, Eliot had already revealed something to him by this point. Something he hadn’t told anyone else. He closed his eyes and licked his lips, steadying himself before turning to face him. “You told me about Logan.” All of the color immediately drained from Eliot’s face and he opened his mouth to say something, but then aborted. “I’m sorry,” Quentin whispered, his heart dropping.

Eliot lurched towards standing. His eyes were shining. He looked first at Quentin, studying him for a long moment, then addressed Penny. “Yeah. He’s…” He ran his hands through his hair. “Shit.” He walked out of the Cottage then, slamming the door behind him. 

Margo moved to follow, but not before looking at Quentin in confusion. “Who the fuck is Logan?”

Quentin just shrugged. “Not my story to tell.” She stormed out after Eliot. Quentin looked towards Penny. “Turns out you’re an asshole in every timeline.” 

He just shrugged at him. “Whatever, dude.” He walked over to the bar and poured himself another drink. “Worked, right?”

Quentin felt the bonds release from his hands and he rubbed at sore wrists. Alice was just staring at him like he had kicked her puppy, and Julia just looked…perplexed. 

After that, he made a few, stuttering attempts to explain to Alice that they were no longer together in his timeline. He did not add that her recent betrayal had left an open gaping wound that he was reminded of every time he saw her. She did not take it well, screaming accusations and crying, but still handled things better than he ever would have. Now they just carefully avoided one another as much as possible, which wasn’t very easy considering they were sharing living spaces. 

Eliot seemed to subscribe to that same tactic, which was just as well, he didn’t have any idea what the fuck to really say to him. Margo, on the other hand, took the exact opposite approach, trying to milk as much information from him about her future self. So, Quentin just avoided them both, which completely broke his heart. He would catch himself openly staring across the room, longing to be within the warm circle of their friendship. It was Julia, of course, who became his port in the storm.

He was in the window seat, torturing himself with another round of _my God he is so young here_ , pretending to read a book but really watching Eliot pantomime Professor Sunderland in an attempt to make Margo laugh. His eyes suddenly flashed towards Quentin. Caught. Shit. Julia slid in beside him. “Hey. Wanna talk?” 

From then on out, he bound himself to her. Apparently, they had some shit in this timeline, centered mostly on Alice, but their long friendship and ease with one another made quick work of any past transgressions. Plus, she genuinely seemed to have _missed_ him. He didn’t tell her much, at first. But then, he trusted her more than pretty much anyone, and he had a strange compulsion to explain what had happened. Was happening. More than anything, he was pretty fucking lonely here. So, he told her everything. Skimming in some areas, embellishing others. Felt a bit at times like they were playing an inverted game of “Never have I ever”. He told her about coming to Brakebills, her stint as a Hedge. Becoming Kings and Queens of Fillory. _Yes, Fillory was very fucking real, and yes, she got to go there, too._ The Beast. Alice, losing her and bringing her back just to lose her once more. He spread the stories out, maximizing their time together. He felt the old, familiar tug of his former crush from time to time, knowing deep down that ship had sailed long ago, but still relishing his time with her. He told her of losing magic, of her having the lone spark that led to her becoming a goddess, (that one was a very abridged version—she really didn’t need to know the bad shit). He spoke of questing, of a lifetime with Eliot, Margo becoming High King. The castle at the end of the world. The monster walking around in Eliot’s body, hunting them all. 

Somehow, the weeks had gone by, and the time of the Trials had come. Quentin had already decided he was not going participate, wasn’t like Fogg was going to throw him out at this point, anyways. And, there was no way in hell he was spending even one more minute with that dick Mayakovsky. Julia stopped by his room the night of to say goodbye, sitting on the edge of his bed. “So, you know, maybe you could talk to them while I’m gone? To him?” She nudged him with her knee. 

He just rolled his eyes. “Jules, he’s not…you. We’re not friends here.” He played with his frayed shirt sleeve. “Honestly, it is just…too…much.”

She hugged him then. “I dunno.” She pulled back and looked at him, tucking an errant strand of his hair behind his ear. “He just might surprise you. You could be missing out here.”

“I love you, Jules.” He hugged her once more, pulling her close and smelling her shampoo and that other scent that was just Julia. “Don’t let Mayakovsky get to you. He’s a real asshole, but you'll get through it.”

“I love you, Q.” She squeezed his arm. “Think about what I said.” 

He did. Instead of listening to her, he spent his days reading, his nights alone, getting slowly inebriated and/or stoned. It was one such night that he was out on the porch, pretty far into the drunken portion of the evening when Eliot stepped out, joining him. He lit a cigarette. Quentin didn’t even acknowledge he was there, just pointedly ignored him, looking somewhere into the middle distance. The silence spooled out between them for a few minutes before Eliot spoke, his voice a bit slurred. “Who am I to you?” 

Quentin snapped his head up in surprise before sighing deeply and running a hand over his face. “Eliot.” He sighed again, looking away. “What does it even matter?” His voice was breaking a little. 

“It matters because when you think I am not looking, you stare at me like I hung the fucking moon. The rest of the time, you avoid me because it seems like being around me causes you actual physical pain.” He took a deep drag from his cigarette, exhaling in a long plume. “And you say my name like it's a goddamn prayer.” He stared at Quentin, willing him to turn and face him, but Quentin continued his fastidious study of the ground. “So, the way I see it, we are either together in your timeline. Or, I am dead.” Quentin did look at him then, his eyes impossibly wide. 

“We’re not together, “he started, faltering. “I mean. We were…” He sighed again, tugging at his hair. “Shit. It’s…complicated.” He closed his eyes briefly, but forced himself to look back at Eliot. He owed him that. 

“So, I’m dead.” Eliot’s tone was flat.

Quentin shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t know, actually.” He gave Eliot a small, sad smile. “You did something colossally stupid. And heroic. You tried to save me from a monster. I don’t think any of us realized just how dangerous what you were doing was. And now…” He drained his glass, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve and setting the glass on the ground. “And now, none of us know who we are. That fucker Fogg erased our memories, gave us completely new identities. But you…well. The monster has you. And, I don’t know if you are dead, or inside with no memories, or completely aware but forced to watch as this monster uses your body for its own agenda.” He could tell Eliot was teetering on the edge of becoming unglued. He wished he could just reach out and touch him, pull him in close and tell him everything would be ok. Instead, he flexed his hands into balls, fingernails biting into skin. “The monster found me. I think it was trying to restore my memories, which worked, but something went very wrong, because I ended up here.” 

“Christ.” Eliot’s voice was barely above a whisper. He took another long drag of his cigarette. He was studying Quentin again. “Were we in love?”

Quentin closed his eyes briefly, steeling himself. In for a penny. He nodded. “Yeah.” He took in a deep breath. “We were.” He quickly corrected. “Are.” 

Eliot cleared his throat. “So why…” He looked directly at Quentin. “Why weren’t we together?”

Quentin just sighed again. “We didn’t have the time.” He smiled tightly. “Actually, we had all the time in the world. And then, we had no time at all.” 

“Tell me?’

“It’s…a really long story. Let’s just say something profound happened to us. Changed us completely.” He shook his head. “This is just so…strange. Me, knowing you better than anyone else in the world. Even Julia. But to you, I’m basically a stranger.”

“Why don’t you let me get to know you, then?” Eliot sounded almost…shy. Eliot was many things, but timid had never been in his repertoire. 

He closed his eyes. “Eliot…I.”

“What if this is it?” Eliot leaned closer to him. “What if you get back to your timeline, and I am lost to you forever?”

Quentin just stared at him for a minute, fighting an invisible war inside. Eliot didn’t drop his gaze. What if he was right? Decision made, he slowly stood and walked over towards the railing Eliot was leaning on, standing right in front of him. He reached out and cupped his cheek, running his thumb along his jaw. He had always liked Eliot with a bit of stubble and this version was clean shaven, but that didn’t matter now. Eliot was alive and right here, practically thrumming with desire. He had been such an idiot. He leaned down and kissed him, it was tentative at first, all exploring lips and tongues. His heart ached as he drank in the taste of Eliot. It had been far too long. He knew how to make things more heated, just needed to suck _right_ there, the tender spot behind Eliot’s ear. He smiled into Eliot’s skin when he moaned, feeling the sound rumbling deep in his chest. He ducked his head, catching Eliot’s eyes and asking a wordless question. Eliot eagerly nodded, so he took him by the hand and led them inside.

Mercifully, Margo had already gone to bed and the common room was empty, so they were uninterrupted on their way up the stairs. He led them to Eliot’s bedroom. In the beginning, Quentin had always let Eliot take the lead, more out of sheer inexperience than anything else. Then, as they had grown older and spent more time together, as Quentin became more comfortable with his own body and with Eliot’s, they had been evenly matched. This was something altogether different. Eliot was almost hesitant, but Quentin gently led him, showing him he knew what Eliot needed, and what he needed, in return. Afterwards, he laid with his head pillowed on Eliot’s chest just staring at him in what he was sure was something like wonder. Eliot was looking at him in much the same way. 

“Holy. Shit.” Eliot had reached over and was slowly carding his hand through Quentin’s hair.

“Yep.” Quentin smiled, turning his face to press a kiss over Eliot’s heart.

“How did we ever manage to get out of bed?”

Quentin laughed into his chest, then slid up to sitting. He took Eliot’s hand, encouraging him to sit as well. To truly understand, Eliot needed to know. So, he told them of their beautiful shared lifetime, of their family, of their constant, enduring love. When he was finished, both of their eyes were shining. He felt like some cheesy romance movie, like that shitty Nicholas Sparks one that Alice had made him sit through once. He couldn’t bring himself to care much. This was Eliot. This was home. 

He couldn’t believe he had wasted so much time when he could have been spending his days getting Eliot to fall back in love with him. Apparently, he didn’t need to be pushed very hard to begin with. 

At first, Margo was a complete bitch about it. She didn’t talk to them for two whole days. Eliot had advanced pretty quickly from pretending not to care to total fucking misery. On the third morning, Quentin cornered her in the kitchen on his way out the door. “Look. He doesn’t work without you.” He adjusted the strap of his bag across his shoulder. “I’m going to see my dad. I’ll be back tomorrow.” He left then, not turning back. When he returned the next day, Margo was lying across Eliot’s lap. He was absently playing with her hair, twirling a long strand into a curl with his finger. Quentin watched them silently for a few minutes before they noticed him. He made his way over towards the couch, perching on the arm nearest Eliot. “How’s your dad?”

Quentin sighed tiredly. “Not great. But, at least I got to see him.” 

Eliot grasped the front of his shirt, twisting at the fabric and hauling Quentin down into a deep kiss. “Hi.”

Quentin glanced up at Margo, but she just rolled her eyes. “Gah. You guys are ridiculous.” But, she was smiling when she turned her face into Eliot’s middle, fiddling with a button on his vest. Quentin felt something slot into place then, feeling _right_ for the first time since he had arrived. It was the three of them, now, each claiming ownership to different parts of Eliot’s heart. 

He told them Margo’s story, as well. She was a part of all this, after all. 

After a few days, the rest returned from Brakebills South, world weary and worn. He could tell from the furtive looks, the way they were pointedly avoiding each other, that Alice and Penny were the ones who had been joined there. They retreated up the stairs, trying but failing not to touch one another. 

Julia smiled tiredly at him. He was seated on the couch, Eliot’s arm thrown over his shoulder. He stood, pulling her into a tight hug and she whispered in his ear. “Resisting the urge to say ‘I told you so’.”  


It was very soon after that the Beast returned. He smoothly waltzed through the mirror as if on an afternoon jaunt. Margo was the first to fall. Quentin felt his heart shatter as she was spliced from shoulder to sternum. Everyone was in a panic, trying to get away. Penny was next. Jane stepped through seconds after Penny fell, nodding at Quentin. He locked eyes with Eliot. Jane pulled out the watch, stopping it with a click. Quentin felt everything listing to the side, like the world was a tv screen being pulled into the far corner, fading into a swirl of white.

_The light is so bright it is blinding, Quentin puts up a hand to shield his eyes. It takes him a moment until he realizes he is looking across the Sea, the House looming above. Eliot is perched on the front wall, the perfect affectation of casual boredom, sucking on a cigarette. Quentin strides deliberately across, making a beeline towards him. Eliot hops down from the ledge and is reading from a white index card. “Quentin Cold…” He cuts him off by grasping him by the tie and pulling him into a fierce kiss. Eliot bucks away in surprise at first, but Quentin is nothing but persistent, and eventually, Eliot relents, returning the kiss. Quentin lets go of him, smiling. Eliot’s mask slips a little, eyes wide and more than a little dazed. “Eliot." His name a prayer. "We need to talk.”_


End file.
